The unknown inheritance of a war in prose, poetry, and photographs.The Valley of SorrowsThe Que Son Valley was like no otherTook your sons took your brothersStole your dreams ruined livesMade widows out of wives.For all who walked away they live within it every daySmell the hedgerows dig the holesCross the river that flowedStill see the blood on their clothesHear the mortars and incoming roundsWatch the choppers hit the groundWatch as they fly awayEarly morning here we stayMemories that do not fadeThe Que Son Valley was an early grave.
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